


Raiders of the Fever Sea

by JackBivouac



Series: Skull and Shackles [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bondage, Cats, F/M, Frogs, Furry, Interspecies Sex, Multi, Naga, Other, Rape, Sexual Slavery, Sharks, Unconscious Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-11 23:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19936420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: Adventures of the pirate Captain Barna Bashri and the Wormwood crew





	1. A Pirate's Life for Me

It had been weeks since Captain Barna Bashri had heard from his boatswain and side crew. For all he and the rest of the crew on the Wormwood knew, they’d run afoul of some Hells-damned Chelish naval vessel and whisked off to the Black Lady’s locker. The jackal-headed rakshasa was inconsolable.

He sat deep in his cups at a table at the Mermaid’s Bucket, the next best brothel in Port Peril after they’d received a lifetime ban/wanted dead-or-alive bounty from the Formidably Maid after absconding with two sex slaves. His first mate, Mister Plugg, was at the bed beside him, too preoccupied to drink.

The drow had a shark-skinned malenti slave tied by the wrists to the bedpost. Though Shivika was a sahuagin, she resembled more of an aquatic elf with a mouthful of serrated teeth. She was bent over, blue breasts dangling, legs spread in a v behind her.

The first mate fucked her ass from behind, both hands wrapped around her neck. Shivika’s eyes bulged from the lack of air, gills gasping under Mister Plugg’s fingers. Seconds away from passing out, her anus clamped tight around the drow’s wall-ripping dick.

Mister Plugg grunted, seed exploding from their dick into the shark-slut’s ass. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head even as her back arched between the cock stuffing her spasming ass and the taut line of her bound arms.

The drow pulled out, letting their malenti cumdump collapse unconscious to the floor, arms still bound over her head to the bedpost. Their cum oozed out from between her strengthless legs.

Mister Plugg flumped naked into the chair opposite Barna. “Captain, you’re not still crying, are you?”

“Maybe.” He tipped back a long drink in the hopes of blocking the elf’s pitying face. The jackal succeeded only in downing a pint of rum in half a second. He set the mug down with a loud sniffle. “Master Scourge was our friend!”

“Look, Captain, nobody’s asking us to get over the death of a beloved crewmate. We do, however, need to find a replacement boatswain and assorted crew. Let’s start small. How about Shivika, here?”

“The last time we stole whores for the ship, we got banned from the best tavern in Port Peril.”

“On pain of death, sure, but let’s be honest. The Mermaid’s Bucket sucks ass.”

Barna nodded and sighed. He couldn’t argue with the truth.

“That’s the spirit. Let’s be pirates again.” The first mate chopped through the ropes around Shivika’s wrists with their cutlass and threw the sex slave over their shoulder. “Baby steps.”

The jackal wiped his eyes and stood with a watery grin. “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.”


	2. In Pursuit of Officers

Captain Barna sailed the Wormwood out to an island so small it was known only by the name of its single village, Rickety Squibs. Though out of the way, it was a well-known stop among Free Captains who needed to modify Chelish vessels for sale.

Villagers at Rickety Squibs would refit and modify the lines and profiles of ships without changing a ship’s size, characteristics, or deck layout, providing both discretion and a new identity for a whopper of a price. 

These rebuilt vessels were referred to as “squibs.” In fact, “It’s like as not to be a squib,” was a common saying among in the Shackles for a ship of suspicious origin.

As the Wormwood sailed around a tall headland, they caught first sight of the hidden cove at the mouth of a wide jungle river, its  
sluggish brown waters staining the waters of the blue sea like an ugly bruise. A series of docks has been built upon this estuary, with buildings concealed beneath the overhanging limbs of the jungle beyond.

A small fishing vessel had sailed a short ways out from the village. The Wormwood pirates past close enough to see the exact moment when the rope of a net suddenly jerked.

One of the two fishers was yanked into the water with a scream. The Rahadoumi fisher left aboard had the palms of their deep, olive-skinned hands burned bloody where they were holding the line. The screams and thrashing in the water indicated the fallen fisher was not alone. As did the bloody bloom.

The Wormwood dropped anchor and sent out a longboat as fast as it could. The fishing vessel rocked as a massive water snake with slender spines and brightly colored frills stretching back from its humanoid face leapt up onto its deck.

The Rahadoumi reached for their cutlass. But between the rocking and bloodied palms, the hilt flew from their hand. The blade skittered to a stop before the naga. She knocked it overboard with a sweep of her tail.

By the time Mister Plugg reached the fishing boat, the godless northern Garundi was fully entrapped in the naga’s scaly grasp. The naga had ripped their clothing off with her teeth, revealing a tapestry of ink across their tits, ribs, and hips. 

The naga’s coils bound their arms to the sides of their body and their legs together at the thighs and calves. She’d forced her helplessly restrained prey to their knees on the deck, their breasts and side of their face pressed flat to the boards.

The naga’s long, scaly dick ripped up through the walls of the Rahadoumi’s pussy. The fisher could only grunt, leaking tears from their pleading eyes and blood from their clenched palms as the naga forced them to take the full girth of her monstrous cock.

Mister Plugg jumped from the longboat into the fishing vessel, landing featherlight on the deck. The drow held a cutlass in one hand and a cat-o’-nine-tails in the other. “Let the fisher go.”

“I think ngbbth!” the naga gargled as a torrent of water blasted from the end of Mister Plugg’s cutlass and directly into her face.

With a whip-like crack, she rolled the cum-leaking Rahadoumi out of her coils and reared up to strike the drow. Her venomous fangs clanged against their steel.

Before the naga could recover from the head-deflecting parry, the drow’s whip cracked. Nine tails tipped with hooked metal scored the scales of her neck and latched deep in her wounded flesh.

The naga’s eyes widened in sudden regret. “Oh, shit.”

Mister Plugg yanked her head to the side. Their cutlass slashed clean through the water serpent’s neck. The naga and her gaping head dropped to the deck.

“Thanks,” said the Rahadoumi, gathering their weapon and tattered clothes. “You save my life.”

“I can do you one better if you know how to wain a boat.” The drow passed a hand over their blades, lifting the red from their metal by magic.

The Rahadoumi quirked their brow. “Every gods damned Sil and Sally in Rickety Squibs’ been waining boats as soon as they could hold a hammer. So, yeah. Whatcha got, Mister…?”

“Mister Plugg. How would you like to be the Wormwood’s officer of boatswaining?”

“The name’s Badme. And that’ll be a hearty, ‘fuck yeah!’”


	3. The Raid

The Wormwood needed more crew members. The easiest way to acquire them was to raid some isolated settlement along the Mwangi coast to the southeast or the Sargavan coast to the northeast. They sailed the Wormwood up a wide river mouth looking for just such a settlement.

Zip, zilch, nada. Whatever settlements might have once stood there had already been razed to the ground. At the end of the long, fruitless day, as the Wormwood drifted back down the jungle-fringed river toward the cove, boatswain Badme spotted a ship’s rigging, a very large ship, rising above the trees.

Captain Barna couldn’t believe his luck. It was like they said, when the Pirate Queen shut a cabin door, she blasted through the wall with a ballista.

With their smaller ship still concealed behind the trees and darkness, Captain Barna sent Cwel the adaro and Monog the boggard with Mister Plugg to raid the ship on foot. The Dominator, a huge, four-masted man-o’-war flying the colors of Imperial Cheliax occupied the entire cove.

With the drow’s magic, it was a simple matter to sneak aboard undetected and, technically, invisible. They climbed to the third story and straight to the officer’s cabin where the most valuable crew had to be. The boggard and the drow each clobbered and threw one officer over their shoulder. The adaro took two.

As they left, Mister Plugg cut the pulley-activated tiller lines for good measure. Even if the Dominator did spot them, good luck getting that galleon-sized ass out of the cove. In the end, the Dominator offered only a few ballista parting shots as the Wormwood sailed out free and clear onto the open seas.

Badme, Famin the qlippoth-spawn, and Linse the changeling gathered on either side of Captain Barna to watch as Mister Plugg instructed Cwel and Monog in the preparation of the new, clobbered-unconscious crew.

The adaro and boggard cuffed the four’s wrists together behind their backs. They shackled all four of them by the ankle to a single length of chain hooked to the same mast to which the ship’s whores, were bound by the wrists above their heads.

Fully secured, the two dumped buckets of seawater onto the four until they woke sputtering and coughing onto the deck. Cwel and Monog hauled them up to their knees.

“Congratulations, Chelaxians!” boomed Captain Barna. “You’ve been chosen, offered the chance, to become a more noble kind of sailor, a pirate!”

“And if we choose to decline, hypothetically speaking,” said one of the officers, a Mwangi man.

“We’ll give yer tasty asses back to the sea.”

The Mwangi, catfolk, ratfolk, and grippli, a frog humanoid half the boggard’s size, exchanged a glance. None of them had enjoyed life aboard the Dominator being treated as second-class citizens by Chelish of equal and lesser rank.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say, we accept,” said the catfolk woman.

“Excellent! Let’s have some names.”

“I’m Sgt. Pepper,” said the Mwangi, “former sailing master aboard the Dominator.”

“The name’s Ririkin,” said the catfolk, “master gunner, former, that is.”

“I was the gunner’s mate,” the grippli piped up from the end. “My name’s Kipper.”

“I’m Quarn,” said the ratfolk. “I was the ship’s surgeon and carpenter.”

“Those aren’t remotely related jobs,” said the new boatswain.

“They are if your solution to every problem is sawing it off.”

Badme shrugged and nodded. They had a point, not a good one, but one held aboard half the ships on the Fever Sea.

“Stellar work, mates!” said the rakshasa. “The Wormwood’s getting more cosmopolitan by the second. Now, there’s only one thing left to do to seal the deal.”

Cwel and Monog grabbed the new crew’s shoulders from behind and threw them off their knees onto their backs. Famin and Linse jumped onto Sgt. Pepper like a couple of feral lynxes.

Famin sat on his face, lipless maws opening all across her skin as she ground and moaned her cunt into his mouth. Linse, back to back with the tiefling, straddled the bound man’s hips, bucking and riding him like a wild horse.

Cwel took the catfolk, barreling between her furry legs with their monstrous, adaro dick. She screeched, the claws of her bound hands scratching the deck while the claws of her feet raked down the shark’s back.

The adaro only laughed from deep in their belly. They pistoned harder, faster, deeper up Ririkin’s tiny anus until the head of their cock was ramming her in the guts. Her ass clenched around their raping dick, her chains rattling against wood as her back arched in forced climax.

Monog teabagged in little Kipper’s mouth, leaving only Quarn. The drow looked to Badme. The Rahadoumi shook their head.

“Not to be racist, but I’m not fucking a rat.”

“I feel that,” said Mister Plugg.

Instead of subjugating the ratfolk themself, the first mate put Shivika on a chained collar, freed her wrists from the ropes around the mast, and blue-skinned malenti fall upon Quarn’s little dick. Mister Plugg helped only to force the ratfolk’s muzzle between her legs where their whiskers and tongue could find both her pussy and asshole.

Quarn squeaked into both as the whore’s rough tongue lashed their sensitive cock before taking them balls and all into her mouth. She licked and sucked the ratfolk’s cock to bursting. In minutes, their seed gushed deep into the blue whore’s mouth and down her throat.

Shivika licked her lips and then Quarn’s dick, cleaning it of every last drop. Mister Plugg had to yank her off the ratfolk by the collar around her throat.


End file.
